


Hold Me Close (and Let Me Cry)

by Therapeutic_Steter



Series: Prompt Fics [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scott is a Bad Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Therapeutic_Steter/pseuds/Therapeutic_Steter
Summary: platypusesrneat asked: Stiles being insecure as heck and Peter comforting him. maybe established relationship and Scott's Pack being douche canoes? Thanks!





	Hold Me Close (and Let Me Cry)

Peter came home to a familiar heartbeat fluttering within his apartment. Which, that wasn’t exactly uncommon—once he’d let Stiles in once, the boy had latched on like a limpet, demanding access to the extensive library that he’d managed to recover since the fire—but it was unusual for his scent to be tainted by the sharp bite of anger along with the utter  _wrongness_  of despair. Stiles was far from the happiest person Peter had ever met, but the boy was rarely truly dejected. He was anger, joy, arousal, anxiety, nervousness, boredom, curiosity, ruthlessness, mischievousness…but despair…

“Stiles?” he called, though he knew the wards would’ve already given the boy a warning that he’d returned. Stiles had warded Peter’s apartment only second behind his own home, pleased with having a new purpose and learning more about his magic. He spoke mostly to give the boy a notice, to see if he wanted Peter to bring up the issue now or if he wanted to collect himself and approach it in his own time.

“In here.”

Stiles’ voice was quiet, hurt, but it didn’t break, and it came from Peter’s bedroom. Peter could only hope that meant he wasn’t near tears. Peter would be forced into another murder spree if someone had brought his boy to tears.

Peter stepped out of his shoes before padding down the hallway, opening the cracked door and looking in to see within. Stiles was curled up on his bed, sitting sideways and leaning against the pillows while watching the scenery out the window. Peter glanced but saw nothing of import out the glass, figuring the boy’s attention was lost in thought rather than enraptured by what he was seeing.

Peter crawled onto the bed, curling up behind Stiles and wrapping his arms around him. He nuzzled against the side of Stiles’ neck, pressing a chaste kiss to the bare kiss.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked quietly, a soft murmur against pale skin.

“I asked Scott if he wanted to hang out this weekend, since it’s been months since we’ve hung out other than school or trying not to die.”

Peter rubbed his hands up and down Stiles’ arms, trying to work some warmth into the cool appendages while also offering silent support.

“I mean, it’s only a matter of time before the Alpha Pack makes it move and it makes sense to take some time to breathe while we can, you know? Or I thought so,” Stiles continued. “But you know all the crap that’s been going on with Gerard, and the kanima, and the Darach. It’s just a lot.”

Peter hummed, wondering what the Boy Wonder had screwed up this time. Stiles’ scent turned sharp with ire. Peter held him tighter.

“He said he had plans with Allison. No big deal, not like he sees her every spare moment or anything. I’m not jealous; not like it’s possible to balance school, a romantic relationship, and other social relationships or whatever. Who was the idiot who thought you could do all of that?” He tried to fake a laugh, but it didn’t hold any of the boy’s usual cheer. “But then…I made a joke, right? Like, ‘just wondering if I’m going to get to see you before the next Big Bad tries to kill us, dude’, not even that bad compared to some of the other stuff I’ve said, and he started jumping down my throat about how inappropriate that was and how I was being insensitive and self-centered.”

Peter growled low in his chest, a deep rumble that echoed like thunder. His boy was the furthest thing from self-centered. He was loyal and endlessly caring to any who he took under his wing, which for some reason included the idiot Scott McCall.

The anger that had built up in Stiles’ scent shifted suddenly to the sour twang of hurt. Stiles sniffled.

“He said he needed to be there for Allison because she was still hurt because of her mom dying. He said…‘It’s not like you’d understand.’”

Peter stiffened. How could one boy be so stupid? Scott McCall might possibly be the worse friend to have ever walked this earth.

Stiles shook in his arms. The salty scent was the only warning he got that the tears had breached his boy’s eyes. He held Stiles through his cries, meanwhile wondering how exactly he could eviscerate Scott McCall in the most painful of manners.

“I wouldn’t understand, Peter. I wouldn’t understand what it feels like, losing your mom. I wouldn’t understand what it’s like to have her die way too soon. I wouldn’t understand what it’s like to need someone there, someone who isn’t there, who will never  _be_ there ever again.  _He said I wouldn’t understand!_ ” Stiles shouted his pain, fury and hurt warring for control and only leaving the boy exhausted and trembling in his arms. He turned, curling into Peter’s lap and hiding his tear-streaked face under Peter’s chin.

“Why would he say that to me?”

If there was anything left of Peter’s burnt heart, Stiles soft, broken voice right then broke it. He gathered the boy to him as close as possible, shushing him gently and rocking him slowly.

“At every possible moment, Scott McCall only continues to prove just how worthless of a person he is,” Peter muttered. “You are absolutely perfect, sweetheart. You are brilliant, loyal, caring, and endlessly selfless with those you care about. You have a wolf’s heart, regardless of if you have the literal claws and fangs to go with it. Scott McCall is a self-absorbed whelp who thinks with his dick and nothing else.”

Stiles whimpered, curling impossibly closer and burrowing against Peter’s body. “My  _mom_ , Peter. He knows…He  _knows_  how much I…”

“I know, darling. I know,” Peter said softly as Stiles sniffled, fighting back a new round of sobs.

“Can I stay here until Sunday?” Stiles asked in a quiet voice, unsure in his welcome for the first time. Peter wanted to kill Scott all the more for putting that insecurity there, for hurting his boy so deeply, for shaking his foundation.

“You can stay as long as you like, whenever you’d like,” Peter promised, kissing the top of his head. “As long as you tell your father where you are. I’m not having him calling me worried again and then threaten to shoot me for not letting him know you were here for those two days.”

Stiles snorted, sniffling to clear his sinuses while wiping the last of the tears away. He was still shaky, but Peter was warm and trying, and Stiles could probably convince the man to cook him his favorite pasta tonight. He would push Scott out of his mind for now. He didn’t know how they’d recover from this slight, if he’d ever be able to move past this, but for now…for now he’d be okay.

He leaned up, kissing the bare skin of Peter’s throat and feeling more than hearing the man’s rumbling growl that sounded almost like a purr. It was soothing, and Stiles managed a small smile against his skin.

They’d get up soon, start dinner. Stiles would wash up and change into some old comfy clothes of Peter’s. They’d cuddle on the couch, watch a movie, maybe talk. Stiles would come to bed, drained from the day, and Peter would walk around the apartment twice, double checking the locks and wards, before joining him. They would come together like magnets, gravitating towards each other, kissing and rutting lazily before Peter would end it before they could go too far. His respect for the Sheriff meant Stiles wasn’t able to talk him into pushing that boundary, but he’d be eighteen soon enough. He’d give in without much fuss, falling to sleep to Peter’s heartbeat.

But that was all later. For now, Stiles just breathed, taking a few more moments to collect himself, a few more moments to soak in the silent solidarity and comfort that Peter offered. The man in question hummed a song under his breath, a simple tune that Stiles thought sounded familiar, and it drew out a smile from him.

‘I love you,’ he wanted to say even thought they were far from that point, suddenly overwhelmed at the visceral feeling he had warming his chest.

Peter kissed his forehead, gentle hands cradling him just a few millimeters closer. Stiles thought it felt a lot like ‘ _I love you too_. _'_

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a prompt on [tumblr](https://therapeutic-steter.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
